Vengeance vs Duty
by loudthoughts
Summary: Taking a life makes you think, and Olivia is trying to understand why the lines between vengeance and duty were blurred at the time of the shot. Although she wanted to be alone, she wonders if that was a wise choice. T for mentions of violence.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimers: I own nothing, I have no rights to the characters. As much as it saddens me, it's true..._

_Hope you like... I've kept to Olivia, again, but I writing something from another character soon. It's just easier to write her for now._

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The bar was dark enough to be mysterious and private, yet lively enough to regularly attract large groups wanting to party or unwind. Right now, I was seeking the mysterious and private aspect of the bar. I was sitting on a stool near the further right corner of the bar where, if I really wanted to, I could see everyone in this place, but at first glance, I wouldn't be seen.

Now, it's not that I was hiding exactly, I had just chosen a bar far from the regular cop bars, and I had chosen a secluded part of the bar so I wouldn't be bothered. Or, well, that's what I keep telling myself when I'm not dwelling on today's events. I'm sitting here, with my jacket on the back of my chair, my second tequila shot between my hands and I can't will myself to sit up straight. The bartender glances at me for the umpteenth time since I got here about two hours ago. I think it's probably because I only spoke to him to order a shot of tequila, and then another, and even then I kept from making eye contact. Maybe it's the gun on my hip.

Which ever it is, his glances aren't as annoying as the concern of my squad members. You see, it's not everyday you kill a serial rapist on the job. It's not everyday that IAB suggests maybe you did it out of some wrongly placed sense of guilt, and not because the rapist was actually going to attack you. Sure, I've been debating my own actions, because when Mary first came to report her rape, I refused to believe her out of some stupid belief I must have had back then. So, when her corpse was found 2 weeks ago, and evidence that she had been tortured since the time she came to me asking for help; it's true, I felt guilty. I questioned my abilities, hell, I almost asked to be taken off the case after I had the dream about killing Ben Spark. That's his name; Ben Spark. I should say, was his name, but it's not like I'm going to forget that fact anytime soon, so why remind myself now?

IAB interrogations are inevitable, and I expected it. The fact that I would be severely considered to have acted without being attacked first, however, really caught me off guard. I knew I had Elliot's testimony, and Cragen would surely back me up, but at the same time, I felt like everything I stood for was being questioned. That lieutenant stood over me, smug, as I recounted the events leading up to the part that Ben had raised his gun at me and cocked it, and after I said I had been practically forced to shoot him, he asked me what it had felt like. I didn't understand it for a second, so I asked him what he meant. He said, "Did it feel like vengeance, or did it feel like duty?" I knew what I had to say, and I said it; and I meant it too. I looked at him square in the eyes and I said, "It felt like what I had to do to save myself and my partner."

My hands are shaking. I know that, because I have been staring at my hands without moving for the past half hour. But I know that thinking about that interrogation isn't helping. After I answered that, Lieutenant Smart-ass said I could go, and I had gone back to my desk. Everyone had asked how it went, assured me everything was fine, and said I had done the _right thing_. That's when I had enough, and I told Cragen I had to take off a little early. Because it was Elliot, and his damn near psychic brain, who told me it as the right thing to do. He knew that's what was bugging me without having to ask me, and the fact that he spoke the words aloud, made me realize I had lied to Lieutenant Annoying.

Shooting Ben to protect myself and Elliot had felt more like the teetering balance between right and wrong; black and white, than duty. Black was the vengeance I had felt _after _I had done it, but white was the duty I had felt to protect my partner and up hold the law _before_ I toke the shot.

Actually, it felt like what was wrong with the balance between black and white. My self sense of vengeance and fulfillment should be totally innate, and I should only feel the cold and unwavering truth and absolution that comes with my badge. The law comes down to right or wrong, therefore, black or white. Everything else in life is too. You are either, male or female, tall or short, civilian or cop; everything is supposed to be clear cut and easily categorized.

But vengeance and duty aren't supposed to go on the same scale; let alone on my scale, in my thoughts. I'm supposed to protect the victim, lock away the perps. Kill only when trying to be killed, protect and always serve. So, yes, I did kill because of my duty, and because the law mandates I can take a life if my partner's and my life are in imminent danger. But did it feel like vengeance? Yes, on some level, it did. And I'm sitting at this bar because of that weird and dirty feeling that it brings up, and trying to forget that when I saw Ben doing down, pain and damnation in his eyes, I felt a sense of accomplishment; a sense of something close to resembling joy and triumph.

I down my tequila shot and leave my eyes closed while I feel it traveling down my throat, savoring the sensation of the liquid forgiver of sins, forgiver of actions and thoughts. "Hey, hey, bring me another of these." I tap on my glass getting the bartender's attention. He glances over me, trying to gauge how well I can hold down my liquor. "Are you going to drive home officer?" His eyes settle on my badge for a second longer than necessary, and he gives me a knowing smirk. "That's detective, and no. Now, get me another will ya'?" I give him my nicest, innocent smile, and I see as it slightly crumbles his decision to slow my drinking down.

He puts the tequila shot in front of me and starts cleaning the area near me. God help him, he wants to chit chat. "So, I'm guessing rough case?" There it is; the beginning of annoying conversation. "Yeah, pretty much rough everything." I might as well get a minimal amount of baggage off my shoulders. He makes small talk for a little longer, and when I don't give him anything really sustainable, he drifts away. The third shot is down shortly after his departure, but even though I want another, I'm in no hurry to have him back here.

The bar seemed like a really good idea in the beginning, because I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to face my feelings; I really didn't want to deal either. I wanted the absolution of my thoughts, and I didn't want anyone questioning me. That was then however, and now I want someone familiar; someone to keep me company, but not ask too many questions. Elliot is out of the question, because he would badger me into telling him what's wrong. Casey too for that matter, and I knew Fin was busy visiting his son tonight. Munch was probably available, but, I don't know, something felt off about calling him. The only one left was the captain, and I don't know if I want to go down that path.

I wasn't doing anything wrong by having a few drinks, and I didn't really have to tell him anything about my feelings, because we were out of the office. But I still, it would feel like he's my boss, and he shouldn't see this side of me. Deep down, I knew who I had to call, and I really hated myself for it.

We didn't have the kind of relationship that you tell each other things because you want them to know you better. It was more like, even though you didn't want to know, you know they know you better than you ever thought they would. Woah, I have to stop thinking in circles; the tequila is not helping. Well, the point is, we're friends, and I trust him, and I know he'll understand, somehow, without me saying a whole lot, but at the same time, I'm scared of calling him. I'm scared of his understanding and the way he knows how I think. I don't like to tell him too many details, because... he would understand, and I think that scares me.

I fumble with my cell phone in my right hand, and I open it staring at the screen. Taking a deep breath, I press 6 on my speed dial.

"Hello?"

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So... who did she call? How does he know her even though she doesn't like revealing things to him? Why wouldn't she like to tell him things if he's her friend? Does he work with her?

Who knows...? Well, I do. So review, and I'll update soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Again, I own nothing but my mere attempts at good writing.

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The door chimes as it opens and I don't look up from my hands even for a second because I know it's him, and he'll see me soon enough. His footsteps echo quite loudly because the bar is nearly empty, and if I wasn't such a nice tipper, the bartender wouldn't have made a lot of money tonight.

"Olivia." Just the way he says my name is like he knows everything I need to say to him, and yet, I know that's just the way he talks, and I'm being paranoid. In a jokingly sarcastic tone, I respond, "Why, if it isn't George Huang." He takes a seat next to me and not-so-covertly takes a look at the empty glass in front of me and tries to read my boy language.

"You know, if I was drunk, I would've called Elliot." I swivel to face him, and he smiles. "Well, I was just checking." All of a sudden my back hurts, so I move to sit upright, and it's weird because before I couldn't manage that even if I tried.

"So, are we going to make small talk all evening, or are you going to tell me why this shooting affected you so much?" He gives me a noncommittal 'no nonsense' look, and then, I'm slouching again. "Hey, bartender, get me a beer will ya? One for my friend here too." He sets down two beers and walks away. "Olivia, we need to talk, not drink. You may not be drunk, at least not very drunk, but you will be if you keep drinking." He looks mad when he talks, and he was speaking forcefully, yet whispering at the same time.

"Well, look, you want to talk, I want to drink, so we'll settle on both." At his friendly, albeit stern nod, I begin. "I came here, alone, because I didn't want to talk. I don't like sharing my weaknesses, and I don't like to show when I doubt myself. But today… the IAB Lieutenant … he suspected that I had intentionally gone to kill Ben Spark, and then lied about him trying to come at me with his knife."

I felt the urge to justify my actions to him; afraid he would think the same as the IAB guy. "He asked me what it felt like to kill him. Before… before I took the shot, I knew I had to do it. Elliot was closer to him, and Ben had previously knocked his gun away, and he was going to get stabbed if I didn't do it." I was still facing him, but my eyes were locked on the wall over his right shoulder, and I stole a quick look at his face.

There was a slightly confused look on George's face, and I knew I hadn't really said anything that was bothering me. "George, after I took the shot, this feeling of accomplishment rushed through me, and I was glad I took the shot and killed him. My mind put my thoughts of duty on the same scale of what was right, and I felt that if I hadn't been forced to, I would have still thought about shooting him."

"Olivia, your job is very stressful. You see some of the worst things that can happen to women, children, and all kinds of innocent people out there, yet you keep at you're job because you know it's the right thing to do. But your mind is exposed to these crimes, and you are not heartless. You lose a little bit of your own hope with every case, and when you mess up, you feel so guilty, that you almost can't handle it." George, in an uncharacteristic show of support, put one of his hands over of mine on the counter.

"I'm not supposed to feel like I took vengeance for the victim. I'm not supposed to feel forced before taking the shot, and yet, right after it hits him in the chest; feeling like I did the right thing for mankind. And that I would do it again if I had to."

"Olivia, people put everything on a scale. A scale which in their mind helps them decided which decision or idea out weighs the other. When we decide to bring justice, on the other side of that scale was choosing to do evil. Meaning we thought about doing evil as well. Two opposites, that clash so harshly, so evidently, that you don't know how they could coexist on that one scale. Yet, at the same time, if there was no evil, there wouldn't be a need for justice. They are each exactly what the other is not."

Olivia took a sip of her beer and thought about what George had said. She reached a conclusion and put money on the bar and rose to put on her jacket. Next to her, Dr. Huang stood and hovered near her, waiting to see what she was up to. When she had out her jacket on her, and waved to the bartender, she turned to face him. "Let's go." Without further preamble, she led the way out of the bar, and onto the cold streets of Manhattan.

She walked with a goal in mind, he knew, but he had no idea where that was, so he just followed her in silence. "You know, you make a lot of sense." Olivia kept her slow pace, and looked at him with an 'I hate when you do that' face, that made George laugh, and she joined in. "I try. Years of knowing you Olivia, that's what lets me know that you can't deal with something or that you need to be told why you aren't screwed up." The laughter died off at his serious statement, just as Olivia stopped walking. George had stopped paying attention to where he was going, so when she stopped, he looked around to see where they were. They were on a nondescript street intersection that strangely, was fairly empty, and he turned to her expectantly.

"I got shot on the job here, the year before I joined SVU. It was my third time getting shot, but it was serious; the doctors had to operate for hours. Right here. This is where I put evil and justice on my scale, as you said. I thought, is it worth it? I was fighting for my life, because a perp was trying to skip town." She looked up at the sky for a minute, thinking something over, and George knew better than to say anything.

She met his eyes again with peace in hers, and found she doubted nothing. "It was that moment, that I chose justice, and I know George, I would and will, choose it a thousand times before I choose vengeance."

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I think this is where I will leave this story. If you liked, please review because they make me smile.


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